


i'll always come back to you

by finnhoe



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bucky doesnt know that, post breakup AU, steve is a secret CIA agent, stucky au, temporary breakup au, theres no serum steve is just thicc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8495617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnhoe/pseuds/finnhoe
Summary: steve is an idiot and bucky is sad and they both really need a hug





	

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy :D

Steve is just about a half a whiskey shot into his (as of late) nightly routine of getting drunk and stumbling into bed when he hears the doorbell ring.  
Which, what the hell? It’s nearly 2 am and he’s only awake because, well, he kinda hates himself right now. He walks to the antique mirror and smiles to himself, because Bucky would always give him shit for it since it was from the 40’s. But, Steve’s an old soul.  
The moment is quickly gone because he remembers Bucky is gone and he watches his smile quickly disappear.  
He shakes his head and decides that just having shorts and his Thor socks on is enough. Whoever ringing the doorbell is doing it at 2 am, so they can’t exactly have standards.  
He opens the door, ready to turn away whatever druggie is standing outside, looking for a cheap place to stay. But what he sees is definitely not a druggie.  
It’s Bucky. His Bucky. The man who Steve fell in love with when he was 16, then again everyday after that. The man who made Steve believe in soulmates, in true and unequivocable love. The man whose heart Steve broke a week ago.  
Bucky looks awful. He’s got deep dark circles, his hair is greasy, and he’s wearing gym pants that Steve bought him (after he complained about how cold he was walking to the gym in the mornings) and a black sweatshirt that Steve vaguely recognizes as his.  
“Bucky?” Steve can’t help the flutter in his stomach and the hope bloom in his chest. His hands twitch with wanting to reach out and fold his bo- well, not his boy anymore, into his arms.  
There’s a brief flicker of something through Bucky’s eyes as he eyes Steve up and down before he mumbles, “I can’t fuckin’ sleep, Stevie. I can’t sleep without you. I haven’t slept for a week.”  
And Steve understands that. Steve is sure he looks just as exhausted as Bucky does.  
“Me, either,” Steve scrubs the back of his neck, unsure of what his boundaries are. Does he sleep on the couch? Does he sleep with Bucky?  
Bucky looks up and Steve swears he sees the hint of a smile on his lips upon Steve’s awkwardness. He hasn’t seen Steve this nervous since he asked Bucky on a date when he was a skinny junior in high school. Bucky shifts his weight on his feet, which reminds Steve of how he needs to do something, dammit.  
“Uh, come in,” Steve steps aside and slaps himself internally for being so damn awkward. It’s Bucky, for christsakes.  
Bucky looks up from the ground and hesitantly steps in the apartment. He didn’t bring a bag, Steve notes. He toes his shoes off and puts them in the shoe rack, because he remembers how much Steve hates tripping over shoes.  
Steve notices that he does that and feels a clench in his heart.  
When he’s turned around, Steve notices how long Bucky’s hair has gotten. It’s only been a week, but that’s a long time in Bucky and Steve terms. It’s gotten long enough for a ponytail, which it’s in right now. Steve has always loved his long hair. He loves to play with it, braid it, pull it. Well, loved. He doesn’t think he can do that now.  
Bucky turns to face Steve and waits, expectantly. The air is tense with hesitance and the need to touch each other, to feel. They were never meant to be separated. It’s like going against the laws of nature.  
“Do you wanna shower?” Bucky raises an eyebrow as Steve says this, “No no no, not together. I meant. Like. Alone. Because, like, I know how much you hate not showering and I just want you to be comfortable,” Steve is rambling to correct himself and he knows it by the slight quirk in Bucky’s lips.  
Bucky nods and turns around, helping himself to the bathroom. Steve watches him walk away. He’s always loved the way Bucky walks. Not, like, in a weird way. But just the way he carries himself and the slight sway in his hips. He’s walked like that since he was 17. He doesn’t really walk with that confidence right now.  
The bathroom door shuts and there’s a pause before he hears the water running. Steve scrubs a hand over his face and walks to the kitchen. He leans over the counter on his elbows, covering his face.  
He’s so stupid. He should’ve told Bucky all along. He should’ve fucking told him before it happened.  
He can’t get the image of the way Bucky’s face crumpled out of his head when he walked in their apartment to find a woman kissing Steve.  
Steve didn’t enjoy it, that’s for damn sure. She was just his mission. She was a Hydra agent and his mission was to seduce her (just by flirting), get information, then kill her. It seemed awfully Natasha-esque, but he couldn’t turn down Fury’s order.  
Which is another thing Bucky doesn’t know. Steve is a secret agent employed by the United States Central Intelligence Agency.  
Steve sighs heavily and walks to his couch, plopping down on the seats and tries not to remember the day Bucky and him picked it out from a flea market.  
He should’ve tried harder. He should have ran after Bucky and stopped him. In that moment, he knew he would have to choose between Bucky and his mission. He chose his mission.  
He has regretted that decision every second since it happened. His mission failed, anyway, because the agent figured out he wasn’t who he said he was and she fled through the window. Luckily, she thought he was just a nasty man who was already married, and not an agent. Otherwise, the story would’ve ended very differently.  
He’s so afraid to tell Bucky because he’s afraid Bucky will hate him. Bucky thinks he has a desk job at the Empire State Building. He never told Bucky because he’s heard too many stories of agents’ lovers being killed by Hydra after their identities were revealed. He couldn’t do it.  
So, Steve doesn’t know what to do. The knowledge that Bucky thinks Steve cheated on him literally makes his skin crawl. So, actually, he does know what to do.  
He’s just having trouble on how to do it to minimize Bucky getting hurt any further.  
Steve decides he’ll do it in the morning. He’ll make coffee for them (half and half and honey for Bucky) and he’ll sit Bucky down and tell him. He has to. He can’t lose Bucky, at least with Bucky not knowing everything. He deserves that.  
He gets up from the couch and goes to the kitchen, trading his glass of whiskey for a glass of water. He puts away the alcohol bottle and leans up against the counter, sipping his water and staring at the wall. He stealthily avoids the picture on the wall of the two of them in Chinatown. It’s Steve’s favorite. Bucky is kissing Steve’s cheek, but he’s breaking a smile as he does it because Steve just said a joke before the picture. Steve’s cheeks are red and he’s mid-laugh.  
Steve shakes his head and gets a surge of anger at himself. Before thinking, he chucks the glass at the fridge. Glass shatters everywhere, and Steve curses as soon as it happens.  
He looks down and puts his face in his hands. He seriously needs to get his anger issues in check. He’s always had them. They’re just more threatening now than when he was a scrawny teenager. But they were never towards Bucky. Ever.  
He didn’t notice the shower shut off because looks up and sees Bucky watching him from the hallway. His hair is down, now, and he’s wearing Steve’s shirt and boxers. Bucky looks a little concerned, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and he twitches forward, like he had the urge to help clean it up but stopped himself.  
His urge gets the better of him, because he starts to walk to the kitchen.  
Steve stops him, “Bucky, no, you’re not wearing shoes. You’ll get cut.” Bucky stops where he is, and pauses.  
“Neither are you,” Bucky points out, gesturing with his eyes to Steve’s socked feet. And even when he’s like this, he’s got it in him to be a smartass.  
Steve looks down at his feet stupidly and searches for an excuse, “Yeah, but it’s my mess.”  
Bucky waits for another second, contemplating his next move. Steve watches as he goes back to the front door. Steve thinks for a minute that he’s going to leave, but Bucky grabs Steve’s slippers and Bucky’s slides before heading back to the kitchen.  
Steve can faintly feel the sting of tears at the back of his eyes at the gesture. He’s such a fucking idiot.  
Bucky wordlessly holds out Steve’s slippers. He also looks like he’s about to cry and Steve internally slaps himself again.  
“Thanks,” Steve takes his shoes and slips them on. Bucky does the same.  
Steve reaches across the small kitchen and grabs a paper bag from on top of the fridge. Bucky hates that he keeps them up there because he thinks they ruin the “aesthetic” of the rustic styled kitchen. Steve still doesn’t know what that word means.  
He crouches down, a knee or an ankle or something popping on his way down (he’s really getting old). Bucky follows suit, carefully picking up the large pieces of glass and putting them in the bag.  
They clean up the glass in silence. Steve’s hands start shaking as he’s reminded of how stupid, so stupid he is. Bucky notices, he always notices.  
“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice is small, and Bucky has never been small. Steve has a burning hatred for himself that he did this to Bucky.  
Steve inhales and exhales deeply, willing himself to calm down. It doesn’t work.  
“No I’m not fucking okay,” Steve yells the last two words, and instantly regrets it when Bucky flinches.  
And, well, fuck. Steve immediately feels all anger leave him and guilt replaces it.  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Buck, I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t be scared of me, I’m so sorry, I’d never hurt you,” Steve’s voice is quick and rushed.  
Bucky just stares at the ground for a few seconds and Steve is watching him intently. He feels the urge to hold him, to kiss him and tell him it’s okay.  
Bucky hesitates before he nods minutely and whispers, “Whatever, I’m going to bed,” and he still won’t meet Steve’s eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy.  
That makes Steve more angry. Bucky should be livid. He should be yelling and screaming and pushing Steve, pushing him out of the apartment.  
But he’s not. And that’s how Steve knows he broke him.  
Steve curses under his breath as he watched Bucky stand up and leave the kitchen. He forces himself to finish cleaning up the glass. His hands are still shaking as he stands up and throws the bag in the recyclables.  
He goes to the front door and locks it. Steve would always scold Bucky for leaving it unlocked at night (“Brooklyn ain’t exactly a safe place, Buck” “But, I’ve got nothin’ to worry about since I’ve got practically a science experiment of a specimen in my bed”).  
He stops on the way back and looks in the mirror. He looks horrible. His hair is messed up from running his hands through it so much, and his jaw has a small cut from the glass. He didn’t even feel it.

 

He shakes his head and goes to the bathroom, shutting the kitchen light off on the way. This time, he avoids the mirror that stands against the old, ghastly yellow wall paint. They’ve always meant to repaint this room. He quickly brushes his teeth and stares at his feet instead of Bucky’s wet toothbrush on the counter. He also doesn’t look at the bundle of Bucky’s clothes on the floor, like old times.  
Once he’s finished, he gathers up the strength to go to the bedroom. He stops in the doorway and just stares.  
The moonlight is casting a glow on Bucky’s skin, who is facing away from Steve and facing the wall. He’s got the white down comforter over his body and tucked under his arm. His dark hair is strewn on the pillow, still damp. Steve knows he’s going to wake up with bedhead.  
His chest is moving a pace too quick for sleep, so Steve knows he’s still awake.  
“Should I sleep on the couch?” Steve breaks the silence, and wishes he hadn’t because he feels like he shattered the air.  
There’s a solid ten seconds of silence. Steve is starting to think Bucky is asleep, so he starts to walk back to the living room when Bucky speaks.  
There’s a, “No,” and it’s the first time Steve has heard Bucky’s voice so solid all night. That’s how he knows he means it.  
Steve doesn’t need another word before walking to his side of the bed. He slowly sits down, like Bucky will leave if Steve moves the bed too much. He finally gets under the covers and lays his head on his pillow, staring at the ceiling.  
There’s a good foot of space between them, and Steve is beginning his nightly internal monologue of how stupid he is before Bucky speaks again.  
“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and he’s still facing away from Steve.  
Steve’s heart leaps in its chest, ready to do whatever Bucky is about to ask him, “Yeah, Buck?”, Steve breathes.  
“Can you hold me?” Bucky’s voice breaks on the last word, and Steve’s heart breaks with it.  
Steve nods even though Bucky can’t see him. He quickly turns over on his side and his muscle memory takes over. He slides up behind Bucky and snakes a long arm around Bucky’s waist. His other arm prompts Bucky’s head, who willingly lifts his head to allow himself to use Steve’s arm as a pillow.  
Steve can’t stop himself before he easily pulls Bucky even more against his chest. He starts to pet Bucky’s hair, scratching at his scalp.

 

He can feel Bucky’s body relax. He can also feel Bucky take the hand on his waist and intertwine his own hand with it.  
Steve is torn between being relieved and being even more guilty. He decides to feel both.  
Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, but he leans forward and presses a long kiss to Bucky’s head. He breathes in the scent of their (his?) shampoo, and he can feel Bucky squeeze his hand tighter.  
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s neck.  
Bucky just shakes his head minutely and Steve can hear him swallow loud. He knows he’s fighting back tears.  
There a long moment, and Steve thinks Bucky fell asleep before Bucky quietly confesses, “I still love you.”  
Steve’s breath hitches and he can feel his throat tightening with the urge to cry. Bucky still loves him. He still loves him after Steve shattered his heart. Steve doesn’t deserve Bucky. He doesn’t fucking deserve him and he is such a dick.  
He can’t fight the tears this time and one escapes as he chokes out into Bucky’s hair, “I’ll never stop loving you.”  
He feels Bucky shudder a breath before they both fall asleep.

 

-

 

Steve wakes up sweating at 7 in the morning. He feels a weight on his chest and he wonder why he slept so well before he opens his eyes and remembers Bucky. He looks down to see the sleeping head on his chest, black hair making webs on Steve’s shoulder.  
The air is tranquil and peaceful. The sunrise is starting to come in the window, giving the room a faint blue glow. He looks down and studies the face he knows so well. Bucky’s eyelashes are fanned dark and full against his cheeks, and his nose is still littered with the freckles Steve loves.  
Bucky is so beautiful.  
He’s not sure how to untangle their bodies without waking Bucky, so he doesn’t. He lets himself drift off again, even though he knows it’s selfish of him to allow himself to enjoy this.  
The next time he wakes up, they’re untangled.  
Bucky is asleep on his side, this time facing Steve. He has kicked the covers to his feet, which makes Steve smile for some reason.  
He allows himself the privilege of watching Bucky. His cheek is smushed against the pillow and his hair is covering the other cheek. His face is shaved, and Steve knows he must have done it in the shower because when he came to Steve’s door last night he looked like he hadn’t shaved for a few days.  
The shirt is slightly too big on Bucky, causing it to dip down to reveal half of Bucky’s collarbone. Steve would spend hours worshipping Bucky’s shoulders and chest.  
He used to.  
That reminds Steve of what happened, and how he doesn’t have Bucky. A solid weight settles in his stomach again and he feels disgusted with himself.  
He forces himself to get out of bed. He’s dressed in the exact same clothes (or lack thereof) from last night. He slowly sits up, pushing himself gently off the bed. He tiptoes out of the room, and he probably looks ridiculous.  
Steve heads to the kitchen and checks the time on the oven. 11:23 am. He decides it’s not too late for coffee and he sets the coffeemaker up to brew, grabbing two mugs and setting them on the counter before he heads to the bathroom  
His shower is roughly three minutes long, before he steps out and towels himself off. He feels sick with anxiety about having to explain everything to Bucky.  
Steve tries to shake it off as he wraps the towel around his waist. He heads back to the bedroom, his movements soft and miniscule out of the fear of waking Bucky.  
He breathes a sigh of relief to find Bucky in the exact same spot as he left him. His chest still has the deep, slow, movements that signify sleep.  
Steve grabs a folded t-shirt on top of his desk and swiftly puts it on. He looks down and realizes it’s the shirt Bucky bought him for his birthday. It say’s ‘Cheer dad’ in pink letters. Bucky ironed on a ‘d’ and a ‘y’ to the end of ‘dad’. Bucky thought it was hilarious because Bucky coaches the local high school cheer team, and all of the cheer team has a crush on Steve.  
Steve gets a faint smile at the memory and steps into a clean pair of boxers and his grey joggers.  
With one last glance at Bucky’s sleeping frame, Steve heads back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know if it’s out of line to make them breakfast. He does it, anyway.  
He throws together a pancake batter recipe that he has memorized. Bucky has always loved his pancakes.  
He gets so into the rhythm of pouring batter and flipping pancakes that he doesn’t notice Bucky pad into the kitchen.  
He turns around with a plate full of pancakes and almost drops them because he jumps upon seeing Bucky leaning against the fridge, observing Steve with an apprehensive look.  
Steve recoups (mostly) and places the plate on the counter with shaking hands.  
Bucky tracks his movements with his piercing blue eyes. When they meet Steve’s darker blue ones, Steve’s stomach twists.  
“Breakfast?” Steve supplies with a question. He’s not really sure what Bucky is feeling right now because Bucky has always been stellar at hiding his emotions.  
But Steve knows Bucky too well.  
He can tell by the way Bucky is absentmindedly picking at his fingernails that Bucky is anxious, too. That makes him feel worse because Bucky has awful anxiety and Steve can’t even fathom how horrible everything has been for him. It’s with that thought he sees how bitten and short Bucky’s nails are, a few hangnails scabbed with blood.  
He did that. He caused Bucky’s dejected slump of his shoulders and the nervous twitch of his fingers. He caused the dark circles and the slightly more hollowed cheekbones from nights of insomnia and days of feeling sick with anxiety.  
He hates himself.  
Bucky nods and moves to sit at the bar across from Steve. Steve is caught up in his own mind so it takes him a solid 30 seconds to realize he’s holding the pancakes and coffee hostage.  
Steve mutters a, “Sorry,” before grabbing two plates and giving them each three pancakes.  
He goes over to the coffee machine and pours them each a cup. He dilutes Bucky’s with cream and honey, but he takes his black. He’s on automatic pilot, having gone through the motions of making them breakfast for years. But, it’s different now.  
He slides over Bucky’s plate and coffee before he realizes Bucky is crying. There’s silent tears down his cheeks and when he looks up Steve’s breath hitches because his eyes are so blue and they just tear right through him.  
There’s a beat of Steve standing in the heat of Bucky’s scrutinizing gaze before:  
“Talk,” Bucky manages to not break eye contact, and Steve can see how his right hand is white knuckling the coffee mug.  
“Okay. Okay, Buck,” Steve says calmly and smoothly even though his insides are a mess of a raging storm.  
He takes a deep breath.  
“I don’t work at the Empire State,” Steve begins, and Bucky has stopped crying now, trading that for a slight look of confusion.  
“I’m a secret agent for the CIA,” Steve blurts, eyes heavily scanning Bucky’s face for any reaction.  
The reaction he gets surprises him, to say the least.  
Bucky laughs. He laughs so hard he starts coughing before he realizes Steve isn’t smiling.  
“You’re not joking,” Bucky observes, his incredulous grin falling, and now it’s his turn to analyze Steve’s face.  
“No, Buck, I’m not,” Steve affirms and Bucky takes a big inhale upon his words, “I’ve been an agent since I was 20. And that means I have a lot of missions. Missions I can’t tell you about. But, I can tell you that what you saw last week was a mission.”  
Bucky laughs coldly, “Missions don’t involve kissing someone.”  
Steve feels a wave of nausea at Bucky’s anger.  
“The mission wasn’t to kiss her,” Steve supplies, trying to keep his voice under control. He notices he’s clenching the countertop with white knuckles.  
He can see Bucky’s face go from confusion to hurt to anger. Bucky’s balls up the fist that’s resting on the counter.  
Bucky throws his hands up, “Oh, so you’re telling me you wanted to?”, Bucky doesn’t slow down enough to hear Steve’s objection, “Did you fucking like it, Steve?”. And there’s the explosion.  
Steve is taken aback by that, his face contorting into confusion, “No! What the fuck?”  
“Then please do me a favor and explain why the fuck I walked into that!” Bucky is yelling now, and he’s out of his seat, standing across the counter from Steve.  
He’s got a wild look in his eyes, illuminated by the sun rays coming in through the plethora of windows. His dark hair is a stark contrast to the tired grey of his eyes and the bloodshot look of them. Steve notices the clench of Bucky’s fist and it spurs him on.  
“My mission was to flirt with her, get her to trust me, then lace her drink with poison. She fucking kissed me, Bucky. I didn’t. She did. She’s the fucking scum of the earth! She works for Hydra!” Now Steve is yelling too, only because he so desperately wants Bucky to understand.  
Hurt flashes through Bucky’s eyes before he scoffs and laughs, moving to the other side of the counter, “Oh, okay, so you would’ve liked it if she was a good guy!” Bucky is a couple feet from Steve now, and Steve notices the vein protruding on Bucky’s neck from his anger.  
“What! No! Absolutely not!” Steve takes a breath and steps forward.  
He really, really, needs Bucky to understand.  
He grabs the sides of Bucky’s face, “Bucky, I love you. I don’t feel anything for anyone except for you. It’s you. It’s always been you and it will always be you,” his voice is softer now and his eyes are scanning Bucky’s.  
They’re looking each other deep in the eyes for a second and Steve watches Bucky’s eyes go from angry to soft the seconds after he hears Steve’s words.  
“Are you fucking lying to me? Don’t lie to me, Steve,” Bucky inquires, voice quiet, but gravelly with emotion.  
Bucky’s hands go up to hold Steve’s, which are still on his face. Steve’s chest leaps with hope at the gesture.  
“I would never, and will never, lie to you. I love you, please know that,” it’s Steve’s turn for his voice to break, and he hopes he can do nothing but hope that Bucky understands.  
Bucky is silent for a few moments. He leans into Steve’s touch subconsciously. Steve isn’t breathing. He feels like he’s going to puke. Bucky’s done with him. He’s going to leave him. Steve is going to be nothing but a blob of tissue, muscles, and bone. There’s noth-  
“I trust you,” Bucky breathes, interrupting Steve’s thoughts.  
Steve pauses for a moment and replays Bucky’s words, hanging onto every syllable. Bucky believes him.  
He breathes a watery smile and sigh of relief, resting their foreheads together.  
They breathe together, and Steve’s back slightly hurts from being hunched over to meet Bucky’s height (it’s only a couple inches, but he’s got back problems), but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t fucking care. He thinks he would stay like this forever if Bucky asked him to.  
“Thank you,” Steve whispers, he’s not sure if it’s to Bucky or if it’s to whatever God is up there.  
Bucky slides their hands off his cheek and they hang together in between their bodies. It’s then Bucky realizes the shirt that Steve is wearing.  
“You’re wearing that stupid shirt,” Bucky comments with a sniffle and a laugh, looking up at Steve’s eyes.  
Steve has a flicker of remembrance through his watery eyes before he looks down at the shirt. It’s too small now, since Bucky got it a couple years ago and he’s gotten considerably broader since then.  
“It was sitting on the dresser. I tried to be quick getting dressed so I could make brea-” Bucky cuts off Steve’s rambling, a fond smile on his face.  
“Kiss me, you fucking ass,” Bucky sighs, and, well, he doesn’t need to tell Steve twice.  
Steve’s eyes flicker from Bucky’s eyes to his full lips before he surges forward and kisses him.  
Their lips fit together without trouble. His hands find themselves on Bucky’s face, thumbing his cheekbone, and the small of his back. Bucky’s hands go to comb through Steve’s hair and to rest at his neck. This feels right. This is normal, this is where they were always supposed to be.  
Steve kisses Bucky like he’s the last glass of water and Steve is in the desert. He’s slow, at first. He wants to savor it. He pulls back just before he releases Bucky’s lower lip then goes back in. He can faintly feel Bucky’s grip on the back of his neck tighten. He allows his hand to travel up Bucky’s waist to his collarbone, thumbing the dip of the bone before it settles on the other side of Bucky’s face, fingers resting on the sharp jaw.  
He picks up the pace, growing more hungry and passionate. He kisses like he’s addicted and is chasing the feeling. He opens his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip over Bucky’s swollen lip before he gently bites it. He can feel a soft noise vibrate from the back of Bucky’s throat and relishes in Bucky pressing every inch of his body against Steve’s, which only eggs him on.  
His hands trail down Bucky’s shoulders, the small of his back, the curve of his ass. He slowly gropes the flesh there while working Bucky’s mouth open, eliciting another quiet moan from his lover.  
He picks Bucky up without missing a beat, placing him on the counter. He knows manhandling spurs Bucky on, and Bucky proves his point by reaching back and placing Steve’s hand on his ass.  
Steve smirks against Bucky’s lips, the smug bastard. He moves Bucky’s head to the side by his hair, revealing his neck for Steve. Steve leans forward, balancing Bucky with a sturdy hand on his back, and attacks his neck, biting, darting his tongue over, and kissing. He kisses all the way up Bucky’s neck, jaw, cheek, until he reaches his mouth again.  
“Steve,” Bucky moans, feebly trying to push Steve away so they can breathe.  
Steve bites Bucky’s lip again before he whispers against his lips, “What?”  
“We need,” Bucky pauses for another gasp as Steve puts a hickey on his collarbone, “to stop.”  
Steve definitely does not stop as starts on another hickey, this time on Bucky’s chest, “Why?”  
Bucky releases a breathy laugh, contradicting himself with a moan.  
“C’mon, babe,” Bucky tries again, this time steering Steve’s head up by a hand on his neck.  
Steve finally gives in and stands up, looking at Bucky with a smug grin.  
He takes in how red and swollen Bucky’s lips are, and how hard Bucky is breathing. His blue eyes drag over the several hickeys scattered on Bucky’s neck, chest, and shoulders. He meets Bucky’s eyes, which are watching him watch Bucky.  
“You are so…” Steve searches for the right word as Bucky smiles and bites his lip while preemptively blushing, “ethereal.”  
A laugh escapes Bucky, and he puts his leg over Steve’s waist, crossing them by his ankles over the strong back. He lets a hand go to card through Steve’s blonde hair and Steve leans forward to rest his head on Bucky’s chest.  
Bucky’s smile leaves and he feels the slight pull of emotion again. He can tell Steve feels it too, with the way he leans his weight on to Bucky. Bucky kisses the top of Steve’s head, and Steve knots his hands into Bucky’s t-shirt.  
Bucky can feel Steve’s shoulders start to shake, and Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling them together until there’s no air between them. But it’s not suffocating. It feels like they’re resuscitating each other with every breath, every movement. They’re like two parts of a whole. Every movement is together, every breath is in sync. It doesn’t matter how far they get from each other, they will always find their way back. Always.  
Steve holds on to Bucky with every ounce of strength and passion he has, because he feels a rush of guilt and sadness and happiness and anger and he just feels. He feels so much and he can’t ever put into words of how much he loves Bucky.  
Steve cries, and Bucky lets him.  
Bucky runs his hands through Steve’s hair, soothing him. He lets Steve release his tears onto Bucky’s shirt, feeling the warmth. He feels guilty for making Steve beat himself up so much, but then he remembers that he had every right to be angry this past week.  
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Steve sobs, slightly muffled.  
Bucky decides to lift Steve’s head so he can look at him before Steve cries, “I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself from hurting you.”  
Steve’s eyes get so deep blue when he cries, Bucky notes. Like the gentle blue part of the sky when the sun is starting to set and it fills with greens, pinks, oranges. The kind of sunset that makes you almost crash your car while driving home because you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.  
And that’s what Steve is, Bucky thinks. A beautiful, ethereal thing that absorbs all of your attention and feelings and makes you sit back and feel a deep, inexplicable love for the world.  
Bucky looks deep into his eyes, wiping his tears away. He feels a surge of emotion and he tries his best to swallow it back but the feelings take over and overwhelm him.  
Bucky feels the warmth of his tears hit his cheek before he realizes he’s crying.  
“I know,” Bucky rests his forehead on Steve’s, “I know, Stevie,” he leans down and kisses him gently, hands resting on Steve’s cheeks. The kiss tastes like coffee and tears.  
Steve looks down, still overcome with guilt. He’s going to mentally beat himself up for a long time over this.  
But at least he has Bucky back. He’s pretty sure he can take on anything the world throws at him with Bucky at his side.  
They’re silent for a few minutes. Bucky is running soothing thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones and they’re both sniffling occasionally as they try to get themselves together.  
“I think our food is cold,” Bucky’s voice is hoarse from tears, but Steve can hear the smile in it.  
Steve looks up and releases a watery laugh, “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is, Buck.”  
They self-indulgently stare at each other for several seconds. Steve’s eyes flit from the swollen lips, the jawline that he gets jealous of sometimes. He can see the slight wrinkles in his forehead and the way his hair is pushed back, swooping over to one side instead of it being in the middle like normal.  
He finally meets Bucky’s eyes, which are bloodshot and red rimmed, and ever presently that ice blue, almost gray. He has always been infatuated with Bucky’s eyes. The way they turn gray then blue then somewhere in between. He’s in love with the way they light up when he sees Steve, he’s in love with the way they look in the sun, and the way they look in photos.  
He’s just deeply, truly in love.  
Steve is about to tell him, but Bucky tears him out of his thoughts, “You bastard, you barely have dark circles and I know you got just about as much sleep as I did. Meanwhile, I look like a fuckin’ ra-”  
“I am so in love with you,” Steve whispers, now cutting Bucky off.  
Bucky’s breath hitches, his joke falling off his lips as he looks down and blushes. He looks back up from under his eyelashes and bites his lip, watching the way Steve’s eyes follow every movement he does.  
Bucky regains eye contact and breathes, “I love you more than the sun loves the moon,” he bites back a smile as he says it, because he read it from one of the romance novels Steve teases him about. That doesn’t make him mean it less.  
Steve breathes a chuckle, “Nerd.”  
Bucky easily retaliates, “Punk.”  
Steve is caught up again in smiling and looking over the features he has long since memorized. Bucky rolls his eyes.  
“Make yourself useful and get me off this counter, you fuckin’ sap. We have pancakes to heat up and my back is cramping,” Bucky jokes, and Steve is internally relieved to hear the not-so-insult insult.  
He has his Bucky back.

**Author's Note:**

> any comments or feedback is always appreciated!!!  
> tumblr: generallando


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